The MRI scan of my knees is made. I now have to wait for the consult.
When I walk through Faro, I often think about a poem of Cavafy, called The City
His words sound like a dark prophesy:
You’ll find no new sea or land
This city will always dog you
You’ll roam the same streets
Go grey in the same houses
You’ll always end up here
Forget anywhere else
You’ve no ships, no road
The life you’ve wasted here
You’ve wasted everywhere.
This is the translation of Desmond O’Grady, which I like much better than others I’ve found.
Of course Cavafy’s poem is about Alexandria and I first read it when I found it in a small leaflet I bought when visiting the Cavafy museum in Alexandria.
Not many days later I bought a copy of Arabian Nights in the bookshop of the American University of Cairo. Since then, I have read this collection of tales several times, always delighting in Burtons erudite translation.
So, when I finished reading The Alchemist, I was intrigued at the plot: I had the feeling I had read it before and, after googling my suspiscion, I found I was right. It was stolen from Arabian Nights. Tale 14: The Ruined Man Who Became Rich Again Through a Dream.